To (Literal) Hell And Back
by ausllydawmoon
Summary: Or where she goes through Hell to bring him home. Deckerstar. One-shot.


It took approximately five minutes in Hell for Lucifer to remember exactly why he left without looking back. And ever since then, the heat, the darkness, the screams of the souls being punished behind every door in the barren wasteland he used to call home have just been building up a weight on his shoulders he isn't sure he'll ever be able to get rid of. Not to mention the fact that the only other sentient beings for him to interact with are demons and the dead people here punishing themselves.

Definitely a downgrade from spending his days in Los Angeles with his preferred family and a certain detective he's grown quite fond of.

He wonders how she's doing, wonders if she even thinks about him anymore. Surely she does, right? It's only been, what, a week? A month? Time works differently down here, so he can't really be sure how long he's been gone. For all he knows, he could've already been down here for years, decades even, and the Detective could already be dead, up in Heaven where he'll never see her again.

He swallows the lump that forms in his throat at the thought. He can't think like that; not now, when the thought of protecting her and the rest of his loved ones from these demons is all that keeps him going. Besides, if she died, he would know. He would _feel _it; he knows he would.

Their last few minutes together on the balcony of his penthouse replay in his mind so many times he wonders if he's, in fact, punishing himself too, now that he's in Hell again. The tears streaming down her face as she begged—_begged_—him not to leave her. The way she closed her eyes and could even watch him as he left, as he had to pull his hand out of her grip after they finally laid everything on the table. After she told him…

He shakes his head to clear the memory, but the image of those blue eyes he loves so much full of tears—because of _him_, because he _left _her—remains in the spotlight of his mind. Just like it has since the moment he leapt off that damned balcony.

Just as he's about to stand up from that ridiculously uncomfortable throne, the jagged rocks making up the throne room floor burst from the ground far below and the demon Dromos walks toward him, flanked by two other demons. All three of them bow when they reach the throne, and Lucifer braces himself.

"What," he says to Dromos. Not a question; a command.

"My Lord," Dromos says, and his voice is so grinding on Lucifer's brain he almost wishes Dromos had kept Father Kinley's body, if only so he wouldn't have to listen to that Father-awful, nails-on-chalkboard voice. "There's a…situation."

Lucifer rests his elbow on the armrest of his throne and props his head up with his hand, closing his eyes and rubbing his temple, though the ever-present migraine he's had since he arrived here isn't alleviated. "Then why are you here complaining to me about it when you should be taking care of it?"

He knows the demons are smart, or they wouldn't have been able to come up with the plan to steal baby Charlie and raise him to be their perfect King of Hell. That being said, these demons are so dependent on Lucifer for seemingly everything that he almost wishes for a little of that cunning to come back to them, if only so they'd give him a break.

If Maze were here, she would've taken care of it. And them. And everything else. The two of them aren't really the 'missing each other' type, but…what he wouldn't give for Mazikeen to be here, undermining his authority and telling him to get off his ass (and ultimately doing everything she could to make this easier for him, despite whatever she may say otherwise).

The demons stand. "Well, milord," Dromos continues, and Lucifer's head throbs in protest, especially as that sickening grin spreads on the demon's face, "the situation is _here_. And I think it's something you'll want to see."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Lucifer asks impatiently. "I may technically have an eternity, but my patience with you is running thin, Dromos."

Nothing but that disgusting smile, which has now spread to the other two demons flanking Dromos, and a call to someone on the ground far, far below them. "Bring it up," he barks.

Another section of rock rises a few yards behind the demons, and they turn to look at whatever's on it. Although the distance between Lucifer and whatever this _situation _is isn't too far, the throbbing in his head is making it hard for him to see. But as said situation approaches the throne and Dromos and his cronies split to make a path, Lucifer can make out two more grinning demons half-dragging someone between them.

Every part of him snaps awake, the migraine suddenly gone and his vision clear. Her head is down, blocking her face, but he'd recognize that blonde ponytail anywhere. But he snaps his mask of the cool, indifferent King of Hell into place, despite every inch and ounce of his body and mind and soul screaming at him and reaching for her.

The two demons holding her drop to a knee, pulling her down with them. "Kneel before the King of Hell," one of the demons hisses to her.

"We've brought you a present," the other demon says, lifting his head to grin up at Lucifer. "We found her stumbling around like an idiot, calling your name. Seems she wanted a personal sentencing for her punishment."

She finally looks up at him, and his heart stops beating in his chest. Despite the dark purple rings under her eyes, the dirt on her face and clothes, the gash on her cheek, those eyes are just as bright as he remembers them. She takes him in, surely studying his pristine suit and the way he's sitting so casually on his throne in the middle of Hell, probably putting together puzzle pieces in her mind that are all wrong. His head throbs again, just from the sheer effort it's taking him not to shift uncomfortably under her gaze. Not to mention the fact that it's taking every ounce of his willpower not to break down right here in front of Dromos and the other demons, which would undermine all his authority and surely send them racing back to Earth to defy him for the fun of it and find a more suitable king.

"Stand up, you idiots," he snaps at the demons.

_She's here she's here she's here—_

"And let the Detective go." The demons oblige, pulling her into a standing position before releasing her arms. They still stand on either side of her.

_Go to her go to her go to her—_

He stands up quickly, before his heart overcomes his brain and makes him run to her, take her face in his hands, comb his fingers through her hair and tell her he loves her until his voice goes hoarse.

He forces himself to walk over to her slowly, and the demons back away from her, watching the two of them in hungry fascination. He wants to sever their heads and use them as bowling balls with their bodies as pins. He allows the fantasy to calm him.

"Chloe Decker," he finally says to her, forcing a bored tone into his voice as he walks a slow circle around her. Checking for any wounds. "I've hardly been gone a month and you've already managed to get yourself killed _and _done something bad enough to get yourself sent to Hell?" He clicks his tongue, _hating _himself for this role he has to play. "You have been a very busy girl, Detective."

_I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry—_

She clenches her jaw, watching him as he finishes his circle and stands in front of her again. Her fists clench at her sides, and he knows she's trying to figure out what he's doing, what game he's playing here. He tries to soften his eyes for her, give her _some _sign that this isn't who he actually is. If she understands, she doesn't let on, but she lifts her chin.

_I love you I love you I love you—_

"A naughty one, too, if she wound up here," one of the demons who brought her here pipes up.

In the blink of an eye, Lucifer lifts the demon by the throat and tosses him off the edge of the throne room floor, down to the ground far below. He lands a few seconds later with a faint thud.

"Now, would anyone else like to run their mouths?" The demons remain silent. Even Dromos has the sense to look afraid. "No? Then I suggest you leave us. Before I send the rest of you out the hard way as well."

The demons trip over themselves following Dromos to the other end of the throne room, where a circle of the rock making up the floor sinks back down.

When their nervous chittering is no longer audible, the Detective's rigid body sags, and she looks even more exhausted than she did a few seconds ago. She opens her mouth, but before she can say anything he pulls her into his arms, holding her so tight he isn't sure he could let go if he wanted to.

After a moment's hesitation, she either realizes the entire scene beforehand was an act or she just doesn't care what he's become, because she wraps her arms around his waist just as tightly. He brings one hand up to cradle the back of her head, squeezes his eyes shut and tries to pretend he can't feel her entire body shaking in his arms and the tears soaking into his shirt, probably ruining it. But he doesn't care. He'll gladly burn his entire wardrobe for her.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into her hair, unsure if she can even hear him. "I'm so sorry. I have to play the part in front of them or they'll defy me and—" He stops himself. He's never rambled before, but he felt the word vomit before it happened. The things she does to him.

He hesitantly pulls away from the hug—the first one he's ever initiated, he realizes—and takes her face in his hands, wipes the tears with his thumbs, examines that cut on her cheek, searches her eyes.

"What are you _doing _here?" he finally asks her. Some part of him is furious with her for coming here, to _Hell_, but that part of him is buried so deep he hardly even notices it's there. "You're not actually…" He swallows that familiar lump in his throat. No. _No. _When she dies, a long, _long _time from now, she's going straight to Heaven. Period.

She shakes her head quickly, a tiny smile on her face for reasons he can't fathom. She sniffles, and he wipes more tears from those purple rings under her eyes. "I'm not dead," she finally says, her voice hoarse and breaking a little. And even though he can barely hear her, it's the first time he's heard her talk since that balcony.

_I love you. _Please _don't leave, _she had said to him. And then he had done just that.

"I came to take you _home_," she says.

His eyebrows knit together. "You…went through _literal Hell _just to tell me to come back?" he asks softly, incredulously. He was sure there was some sort of emergency on Earth that he needed to return for. But…

At that, she smiles again, that fire he first fell in love with lighting up her eyes. "Compared to the hell on Earth without you there? That was nothing."

And something about that comment, that sparkle in her eyes, that small, sarcastic smile, her soft cheeks under his palms…it's all so entirely _her _that he actually _does _break down.

He hates the tears that fill his eyes, partly because it's quite unbecoming for the King of Hell to cry (although he's cried in front of her before, on that Dad-damned balcony), but mostly because those tears blur his vision of her in front of him. But that little laugh she lets out as she reaches up to wipe the one tear that rolls down his cheek is absolutely worth it.

"I love you," he whispers to her.

And then he kisses her, and every piece of his heart that died when he left her that night comes back to life. But she ruins his Heaven-in-Hell after just a few seconds when she pulls away and looks at him again, resting her hands on the back of his neck.

"I love you," she echoes, looking into his eyes so intently he's worried she can see into his soul, worried what she might find there.

"But I left you, and became this…this—"

"King of Hell or Lightbringer, I don't _care_," she tells him. "When will you understand that I don't care _what_ you are, I care _who _you are?! I love _you_, Lucifer Morningstar."

His breath catches, and he swallows. So does she.

"So…does this mean you're coming home?" she asks him quietly, like she's afraid of his answer.

"You came to Hell for me, Detective. How could I possibly refuse?"

She grins at that, and even if Los Angeles was worse than Hell, he would go back just to make sure that smile never left her face.

"And the demons—"

"We'll figure something out." He scoops her up in his arms and summons his wings.

"Oh, we're gonna…" She seems to realize exactly _how _they're getting home, and she tightens her arms around his neck. "If you drop me, I'll send you right back down here. Dead this time."

"Ye of little faith, Detective," he teases her as he leaps off the ground and sets off for home. "How _did _you get down to Hell, anyway?"

"When you left," she says slowly, "a feather came off your wings. I kept it to, y'know, remember you by." He raises an eyebrow at her, but she doesn't acknowledge it. "Trixie found it and showed it to Maze, and then Maze told me…what I could do with it."

"I see," he says. "And how long did it take you to work up the courage to come to Hell?"

"Half a second. Amenadiel took some convincing to help me. You were gone for _three months_, Lucifer."

Three months. Longer than he thought. He tightens his grip on her.

"I'm sorry," he tells her. "I never…I never should have left."

"Don't apologize," she says. "You were trying to protect the world. Nobody can blame you for that."

They emerge through the invisible barrier separating Hell from Earth and sail over Los Angeles. He watches her as she looks down at the city below them in awe.

"You know, Detective, it's really _you _who's to blame for this whole thing. You're the one who enacted the prophecy, being my first love and all." It's harder for him to say the words, now that the shock of seeing her again has begun to wear off. But he'll say it and say it and say it until he can't say it anymore. He doesn't lie, but he's never spoke truer words than telling her he loves her.

"Right," she says sarcastically. "My bad." After a beat of silence, he feels her eyes on him again. He hesitantly meets her gaze. "So…your first _real _love, huh?"

"Yes, well, don't let it go to your head." He looks ahead as he flies towards his penthouse. "I still find your penchant for the rules insufferable and firmly believe you are the worst driver I've ever met."

She simply presses a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, and he finds himself blushing. _Blushing_.

"But I suppose I am quite fond of you, Detective." And by the way she looks at him, he might actually believe she's grown quite fond of him as well. If her traveling through Hell just to get him home is any indication.

When they land on the balcony of the penthouse and he sets her down and gets rid of his wings, he doesn't hesitate to drag her inside. "We should take care of that cut—"

"Later," she interrupts. "Just…later."

This time when she kisses him, he can tell she has no intention of pulling away anytime soon. And although he still has to figure out what to do about those demons, as clothes start hitting the ground and she starts leading him to his bedroom, he decides that just this once, he'll happily admit to her being right. It can all wait till later.

* * *

**can't believe season 4 ended the way it did...unacceptable. gonna be posting another reunion one shot soon so keep an eye out if u wanna**

**(dedicated to kirsty bc i love that bitch and she basically wrote half of this)**


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